New Boys
by Book Nerds Are Cool
Summary: Sam and Max are best friends. They're exactly the same. They talk the same, act the same... fall for the same type of guy. What happens when two new boys come into the picture? Will the girls fall for them? Or will they walk away? Find out in here. NO WINGS! FAX! Cover image is Sam.


**A/N**: **I** **just** **want** **to** **thank** **the** **awesome** _**MPHknows**_ **for** **letting** **me** **use** **this** **idea**. **EVERYONE** **needs** **to** **read** **her** **amazing** **story** Me and God Love Her. **Please** **read** **it**!

**_Samantha_**

Me and Max stood in our room, which we had just finished painting navy blue. Our families, the Rides and the Woodleys, had lived together for several years now, but we had never gotten around to decorating. We each had paint all over our clothes, legs, arms, and faces. She smiled at me and said, "I think we did a damn good job."

I nodded, smiling. "Definitely, Maxie. Anyway, let's go ask dad what he needs." Even though we're not related, I call her parents "mom" and "dad" because mine died in a car crash a few years back.

We first moved in with the Rides when we moved to Arizona. Our dads were best friends, so when we couldn't afford a house, they let us stay. When they saw how well me and Max clicked, they couldn't bear to separate us. Also, we wouldn't let them. I was 6 back then, and Max had been my only friend. Now, we're both 15, and have a bunch of other friends. We're even a band that does covers of other songs.

We walk into the living room and see Max's bitch of a sister, Ella, complaining about why she can't go to the mall. She sees us and looks disgusted by my worn Pretty Reckless shirt that exposed my belly button ring and shorts, now covered in blue paint. "Hey, Dad," I say and he looks at me. "Why did you call us earlier?"

He stood up and pointed out the glass back door. "Valencia saw two stray horses out there and wanted you to see if they were still there." We nod and Max speaks up.

"Where?" "Down by the lake." We walk out, not bothering to try and see if the car would work this time.

We walk down to the lake and find the two strays; And a something else. Standing at the water fountain/spout are two boys covered from head to toe with mud. They're rising the dirt out of their t-shirts, so their torsos are bare. I hate to admit it, but they're pretty ripped. One of them has a slight tan, strawberry blond hair, and ice blue eyes that match my own. He also has a few tattoos and his ears are double-pierced. The other has olive skin, raven hair, and obsidian eyes. He, like his friend, has several tattoos, including on that takes up his entire back.

"What are you doing here?" Max demands. "This is private property." The two boys look up and the strawberry blond one's eyes skirt mine, then travel down my body. I wish I could go up and smack him, but Max would hold me back. The dark haired one gives both me and Max a once-over, the leans against the water fountain, slinging his wet t-shirt around his neck.

"See Fang. Told you it was a good idea to ride over here. Look at these beauties," the blue eyed boy smirks. I grit my teeth and clench my fists. What a creep. _Hello, standing right here. But don't worry, we're just a display for you to comment on,_ I think bitterly. I hate guys that talk about you like you aren't there.

The dark haired boy nods, but doesn't say anything. I can't take them being here. "Did you not here her?" I practically spit the question at them. "She said this was private property. Which means, and I'll say this slowly so your small brains can understand, that you are not allowed here." The blue eyed one raises an eyebrow and grins slightly, studying me like an unexpected result of a science experiment.

"Oh, feisty, are we? Good thing that's my favorite type of woman. Nice accent, by the way." He is referring to the British accent I still have from before we moved here. "Where you from?" He asks, clearly not understanding that my accent is British.

"I'm from France." I say, sarcastically. "Britain! Why the hell did you THINK I have a British accent?" I turned to Max. "And this is one of the reasons I prefer British men over silly, American boys." The dark haired one finally speaks up.

"One of the reasons?" He asks. "Do you have more than one?" I smirk and nod, acting sympathetic as I say, "many. It's a shame you're all idiots and ill-mannered, or you might actually come close to being my type." The other grins and asks the question I knew was coming.

"And what is 'your type'?" I shift my eyes to him and look him up and down. As I do so, he shifts uncomfortably and runs a hand through his muddy hair. He definitely is good looking, and if he had different personality, he might actually be my type. But he's him, so...

"British." I say finally. I turn to Max, "c'mon. Dad is most likely blowing up on Ella right now and I wanna see the show." She smirks and says, "now, there's a sight I wanna see. Let's go." We turn and walk away. A few steps away from the boys, my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my back pocket and read the text. "Hey, Miranda says the rehearsal for the block party is tonight, 7:00." She nods. "Got it. You'll have to find your guitar." A boy's voice behind me says, "you two are in a band?"

I scream and whip around, my ponytail smacking the blue eyed boy in the face as he stops behind me. "WHAT THE HELL!?" I yell. "ARE YOU FUCKING FOLLOWING US?!" He grinned sheepishly, looking a lot different than how he did flirting with me.

"No," he says. "But, I suppose we were walking to close. Our new house is back that way too. Over there." He points to the house that's been abandoned for years, ever since the Smiths moved out. I gave Max a look and she understood immediately. We spoke in unison.

"I thought Dad said he wouldn't let them sell that house..." the boys look intrigued. "What do you mean?" The dark haired one asks. His voice is low and smooth, the kind Max used to fall for almost instantly in middle school.

"That was kind of our hang out," Maxie says. "We would go there when we got pissed at my sister, or my parents." They seemed to notice how she said "my" and not "our". The one standing in front of me asks, "why are you only saying 'my' instead of 'our' if you're talking about both of you? Are you not sisters?" I turn away and wipe my eyes, thinking of my mom and dad.

"C'mon, Maxie. We've got to get ready for rehearsal," I state with finality, though my voice is cracking with unshed tears. Max nods and puts one hand on each of my arms, still standing beside me. Just before we're out of earshot, the strawberry blond one's slightly higher, rougher voice calls out, "hey, what's your name's?" We don't answer.


End file.
